As soon as we’re out of earshot, Connor rounds on me, his eyes blazing, every muscle in those powerful shoulders wound tight. “You really thought you could say my private shit to my family behind my damn back? You led me into this. This is why you were so adamant about making it today.”
“It wasn’t like that! Killian approachedme, and all I did was agree to get you here.” I fumble for the right words, trying not to piss him off more.
“You clearly told him I had health issues. You were the only person who knew.” His jaw clenches visibly, the muscle jumping under his skin. “You had no right to go meddling in affairs that don’t fucking concern you.”
“Is it really so bad that they know?” I throw back, my desperation peaking. “They care about you, Connor. They just want to help.”
“My call, not yours. You think batting those eyes at me and spending a couple of weeks together fucking gives you some sort of right?”
His words hit like a bucket of ice water, destroying any illusion of intimacy between us. I stare at him with a mix of shock and pain.
I reach for his arm but he jerks away like I’ve burned him, those blue eyes colder than I’ve ever seen them.
I feel like I’m in some twilight zone.
“I thought there was something between us. Your brother obviously did too, because he came to me.”
“You shouldn’t even be talking to my brother. For fuck’s sake. This is exactly why I don’t let women into my personal space.”
He’s looking at me like I’m some kind of psycho stalker. Confused and upset, I blink back tears.
“You should go,” he states flatly.
Just an hour back, we were in stitches at his apartment, trying to level up his game in that one Teagan always kicks his ass at. Now he’s kicking me out of his brother’s house.
“I’ll stick to my deal with Vicky. And I’ll handle your mom’s medical bills, if you let me. But that’s it, Lexi, stay out of my business from now on.”
I’m rooted to the spot, completely shell-shocked.
“Do you have any bags here?” he asks evenly.
My brain barely registers his question. “Yeah, just my backpack, by the couch.”
“Stay put.” A minute later, or maybe an hour, he returns holding my bag, his face an unreadable mask.
“Connor, please . . .” I reach for him again, desperate for the solid comfort of his frame. I know he’s lashing out, but he’s hotheaded—he’ll come around . . .
Except he doesn’t.
He steps toward me, all walls and barriers, creating an emotional distance that feels like a black hole.
With a face as hard as stone, he hands over my bag. His detached demeanor cuts deeper than any shouting match.
“I’m sure you can keep quiet about us. No NDA needed . . . right, Lexi?” he drawls.
I can’t believe he’s going there. His words drive the last nail into our relationship’s coffin. Which apparently was nothing more than a fantasy in my head.
He opens the door, making it abundantly clear he expects me gone.
“You’re actually doing this?” I rasp, barely able to speak past the lump in my throat, or maybe it’s my heart. I clutch my backpack to my chest, feeling like it’s the only thing holding me together.
How did we get here? How did everything go so wrong, so fast?
“I thought there was something real here,” I say in a trembling voice.
I thought I was falling in love with you.
“You thought wrong,” he states flatly. “Now see yourself out. I have to deal with my family.”
